Beautiful World
by Lokiev
Summary: This is a coda to S05E14. This is how it should have been. ;D


**Title:** Beautiful World  
**Rating:** PG13  
**Pairing/Characters:** Dean/Castiel  
**Notes/Disclaimers/Summary:** Characters are all Eric Kripke's. Spoilers all the way up to S05E14.

This is a coda to S05E14. This is how it should have been. ;D

He stayed in a corner of the world, one small corner amongst the vast expanse of the world. A small dark corner, away from the light that washed the earth, away from the light that bled hope and wonder.

Away from the light of his father, the light of his creator, the light of what previously was his one and only.

Because he had found another, but his companionship wasn't one that was without sacrifices.

Castiel huddled into himself as he watched the sun rose, the warmth of the glowing rays hitting his face. Taking in a deep breath, he held the movement, and only allowed it to slowly escape his body as the sun continued on its ascent, clueless of Castiel's worship.

He was waiting, always waiting for Dean to need him, always waiting for Dean to call him.

Because he needed to be needed.

Because he was lost otherwise.

--------------

It wasn't often that Dean watched the sun rise. That was simply because Dean, most of the time, would be asleep, twisted in the sheets, with Sam snoring gently beside him, the sound soothing him in his sleep, letting Dean know that his little brother was still alive and well, and his world spun even in the grasp of an apocalypse.

But today, Dean watched the sun rise.

He watched the sun rise, and he saw the red that dyed the sky, mingling with the soft blue and the intense orange, and he saw a world that he really didn't want destroyed.

He saw the sun rise because he had spent the night outside in the yard, with scrap metal and cars surrounding him in a heap, simply due to the fact that he could not bring himself to hear Sammy scream his name another time, to beg him to help him in that broken voice of him.

It rendered Dean's heart broken into a thousand million pieces, and the sorrow shone clearly through his eyes, the window to his soul.

Sorrow and grief and desperation and regret. Every one of those emotions had driven him to raise his head to the heavens just the night before, to plead with the skies and whatever might be residing there to help him. He didn't even care if it were the devil, or if it were the almighty one himself.

He just wanted someone to please help him.

Help Sammy.

Help save the world.

Because it was simply too much for him alone to bear, and the weight on his shoulders was slowly but surely dragging him down. He was dead inside, and Famine had torn apart his careful veil to show him just that.

And once he had acknowledged that, come face to face with the fact that he should have been dead, because as it was, he was hollow inside, no longer alive, he simply could not take it any longer.

So he cried to the sky, to the heavens, begged and wheedled and pleaded, but there was no response. He had waited, he had screamed, he had eventually cursed and slid down the body of a car and used it to lean against, but nothing had happened. Not one damn thing.

So now he sat, the world framed by cars in his vision, and he stared at the rising sun.

And then, for some inexplicable reason that he himself was unable to fathom, he whispered a word, a name.

'Cas.'

--------------

Castiel was listening. He always listened. He always waited.

Even as he stood by the door of the safe room that Bobby had built, even as he stood there and accepted the unearthly screams that were being issued from the room, he listened.

He knew when Dean spoke to the heavens, he knew when Dean cried, but this time, just this one time, Castiel did not answer.

He had no answer.

And despite his want to go to Dean, to simply just be by his side because Castiel knew no other way in which he could help the man, Castiel stayed away. He had no answers, and he was afraid he would infuriate Dean even further, and that Dean might well and truly push him away. And he simply could not have that, because he needed Dean.

But when Dean called him, his name (or Dean's own version of his name, which made Castiel puff out his chest in pride and affection, for some reason) from his mouth, Castiel responded immediately, for he sensed no fury, no sorrow, just a quiet plea for his presence.

So he went.

Dean didn't even jump as he usually did when Castiel simply materialized beside him, standing next to a sitting Dean, his trench coat billowing slightly from the travel. He simply stared at the horizon as the sun continued to rise, undeterred by the mere happenings of the mortal world.

'Sit.'

And this command was simple enough that Castiel could obey without question. So Castiel dropped to his behind, and sat closely beside Dean, and for once, Dean didn't complain about personal space.

That worried Castiel.

'You heard me, didn't you?'

Castiel did not need to ask to know what Dean was referring to. Never taking his eyes off the sun rise, he nodded once, mutely.

'Why didn't you come?'

Castiel did not reply, but he didn't find it prudent to do so. He believed that Dean did not need the further weight of the knowledge that Castiel needed him, and that Castiel didn't want to disappoint him with the lack of an answer.

'You came before, Castiel. Back when I prayed for you sons of bitches to help me with Sammy and Lilith.'

There was no fire in his words, and Castiel knew that Dean was saying it simply because it felt right to.

'Cas?'

Now Castiel turned, and Dean's face was suddenly very close to his, so close that Castiel could see the freckles that decorated his face, his lashes, and most of all, the intensely green eyes that seemed to drill a hole through him.

And Castiel brought his eyes down. He did not know how to answer to those eyes.

'Cas. Look at me.'

Dean bowed his head lower in an attempt to catch Castiel's eyes, and despite Castiel's avoidance, Dean was like a magnet, and Castiel had no choice.

'Why didn't you come?'

Dean repeated his question, and as Castiel stared at him, he weighed the answer that was forming in his head. And then he said it, as simply as he possibly could.

'I cannot help you.'

'You helped me before.'

'That was within my power, no matter how minute. This is entirely out of my ability to do. I'm sorry, Dean.'

There was a moment of silence between the two, as blue battled with green. Then Dean let out a breath, and the world abruptly had sound again.

'You can do it, Cas.'

'What would you have me do, Dean?'

And Castiel was so earnest, so eager, so willing to help, that Dean could not help but smile gently, even as the sound of Sammy's screams rang at the back of his head.

'Just stay there.'

'What good would that --'

'Just shut the fuck up and stay there.'

And with that, Castiel obeyed, and his tongue was held tight, despite the confusion that colored his voice previously. Because he trusted Dean, and would do anything he asked, if it was within his power to give.

And then Dean shuffled closer to Castiel, and for a moment, Castiel stiffened, before relaxing against the gentle warmth of Dean's side as they sat together.

'Cas --'

'You're well and alive, Dean.'

Dean drew back his head, and stared at Castiel, whose lips were twitching just that slightly.

'How --'

'I pulled you out of Hell, Dean. I daresay I know you somewhat. And, if I may, I ensured quite thoroughly that you were alive.'

Dean shook his head.

'You don't understand, Cas. I'm not who I was. I'm just a stinking piece of --'

'You are who you believe yourself to be, Dean.'

And with that, Dean moved away from Castiel's side, shoving his aside with one rough push, and even though Castiel didn't budge an inch, he felt as though he had been punched through a wall.

'Are you fucking saying I want to be dead?'

Dean hissed the words out, and it took Castiel all of two seconds to understand Dean's meaning, before he shook his head desperately, and opened his mouth, eager to explain.

'No, Dean. You believe you're broken, because you regret what you've done. You believe that it has changed you, and that has scarred you. You believed the demons, you believed Alastair, and on some level, you believed Sam's words under the influence of the Siren.'

Castiel moved closer to Dean, his voice deep, gravelly and with a tinge of insistence that Dean had never before heard. It almost humanized Castiel just that bit, and somewhere deep within, Dean was glad.

'But I've told you that you will save the world. That it is not your fault. That I rebelled for you, and you are worth me staking everything on. Why won't you believe me?'

And there was such a heavy stench of sadness in that last sentence, that Dean simply relented.

'I can't --'

'You can. Just try, Dean. You're a good man. You have always been, and will be.'

Looking into Castiel's eyes, Dean saw no sign of lying there, and he knew that the angel only spoke the truth, because he was simply not capable of lying.

'At least there's one friggin' person in this world that I can believe.'

It was a low mutter, not meant for Castiel's ears, but sure enough, Castiel heard it. He made no comment, no reaction to it, however, because he would only hear what Dean wanted him to hear.

With that, Dean moved back into his position by Castiel's side, and he could feel the tension draining away from Castiel's body, and Dean smiled a small smile again.

The sun hung high in the sky, smiling over the world, their world.

Dean stared at the sun for a heartbeat, and then whispered, 'It's nice.'

And on an impulse, he snaked a hand around Castiel's shoulders and gave him a soft squeeze, prompting Castiel to turn to him. Eyes met, and Castiel seemed to consider his next move, and Dean simply waited.

Two heartbeats, and Castiel pressed a chaste kiss to Dean's forehead, and whispered back.

'Yes, it's nice.'


End file.
